


Rose-colored Glasses and All That Jazz

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor always kind of expected falling in love would be a little like the movies.</p><p>He’d have this moment of epiphany and just know. He’d catch some guy’s eye or hear his laugh or something like that, turn around, and there he’d be. The One. Connor would find him and fall in love and that would be that. In the span of heartbeat, the world would be lighter, the air fresher, the songs sweeter. Rose-colored glasses and all that jazz.</p><p>The reality is a little different. Loving Oliver doesn’t crash over him in a wave. Loving Oliver seeps into his soul in a slow but steady trickle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose-colored Glasses and All That Jazz

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posed to tumblr.
> 
> Hope you enjoy,  
> -Jules xoxo

Connor always kind of expected falling in love would be a little like the movies.

He’d have this moment of epiphany and just know. He’d catch some guy’s eye or hear his laugh or something like that, turn around, and there he’d be. _The One._ Connor would find him and fall in love and that would be that. In the span of heartbeat, the world would be lighter, the air fresher, the songs sweeter. Rose-colored glasses and all that jazz.

The reality is a little different. Loving Oliver doesn’t crash over him in a wave. Loving Oliver seeps into his soul in a slow but steady trickle.

It’s Oliver buying French vanilla coffee creamer for Connor even though he takes his own coffee black. It just appears in the fridge one day with no explanation. Connor holds up the bottle with a question on his lips when Oliver just shrugs. “What? You like it.” Oliver kisses him goodbye in the morning with coffee breath and hair that is already losing its style because he keeps fussing with it and Connor decides that it is a rather nice way to start the day.

It’s Oliver switching his side of the bed because Connor doesn’t like being so far away from the door. The entire time he’s explaining himself Connor just knows he sounds like a fool and Oliver’s going to think he’s a freak or something and why did he even bring this up and why is he even still talking but Oliver just slides over. Connor stands there, staring down at him for a moment, until Oliver gives him a puzzled look and a “What? You’re the one who wanted to switch, right?” Walking around to crawl into his new side of the bed, Connor figures it’s kind of nice to have your quirks accepted with grace rather than just being tolerated.

It’s the key to his place that Oliver has made up and places on the counter a simple “Had this made up if you want.” He doesn’t make a fuss or stage an elaborate key gifting ceremony. He doesn’t pressure Connor into accepting it or make the key into some larger symbol of their relationship. “Here it is, if you need.” The key sits on the counter, unmoved, for two days until Connor slips it on his key ring one morning while Oliver’s in the shower. Neither of them say a word and Connor’s almost sure Oliver didn’t notice until they’re almost leaving and Oliver presses Connor’s back against the door and makes them both very late for work. Slipping the key in the lock that night, Connor decides he likes this feeling of using his own key to enter Oliver’s apartment. It doesn’t feel like he’s stopping by after work; it feels like he’s coming home.

It’s Oliver’s thigh pressing against his own during dinner at his parent’s house. Connor’s nervous the whole ride up. Rambling on and on with stupid stories of his childhood and his sister and her kids and his parents and his cousins and their neighbors. The two-hour trip is a wall of white noise because Connor can’t take the silence. The silence gives him too much time to think and question and worry and doubt. He’s never brought anyone home before. He watched his sister going through the process with the amused eye of the younger brother but now he’s in the hot seat himself and doesn’t much care for it. What if they don’t like Oliver? What if Oliver doesn’t like them? What if someone brings up the prom story? What if someone says something stupid? What if Mom brings down the baby book? Oliver catches his hand before they ring the doorbell and squeezes. Connor turns and Oliver’s right there, kissing him quickly and murmuring, “It’s going to be okay.” Connor nods, rings the bell, and drops Oliver’s hand when his mother opens the door.

It wasn’t intentional, he’ll explain later. It wasn’t like he planned to not touch his boyfriend from the moment he walked into his parent’s house. It was just something that happened. Connor stops those casual little touches that he never actually noticed giving before. He sits down next to Oliver and doesn’t place a hand on Oliver’s knee. He turns to whisper something in Oliver’s ear and doesn’t press a light hand to the small of Oliver’s back to bring them just a little closer. Connor doesn’t even notice that they haven’t touched at all until he feels Oliver pressing his thigh into Connor’s under the table. The simple pressure grounds him, calms him, reassures him. Connor subtly glances over and Oliver is there, all that blessed understanding in his eyes. He opens his mouth to explain and defend but Oliver just shakes his head a little and leans over to whisper, “It’s okay, Con. You can relax. Your family loves you. You’re okay.” Oliver leans back, picks up his wineglass, and turns to answer something his sister asked when Connor intertwines their fingers under the table. Oliver looks back and Connor kisses him, right there, in front of God and his mother, and no one cares. On the ride home that night, Connor glances over to watch Oliver negotiate Sunday evening traffic on the interstate and wonders if he needs to expand his definition of family.

It’s those and the million other little things that build and stack upon each other like bricks until it all sort of comes together in the middle of the refrigerated foods section on a Wednesday. Oliver is perusing the yogurt selection and Connor trying to convince himself that he really shouldn’t get out his phone to play Trivia Crack when Oliver returns to dump his selection in their cart.

“I got four of the key lime pie ones and four lemon,” Oliver says, mostly to himself, as he checks items off the list he brought. Oliver made the two of them sit down to make and actual list before heading to the store and Connor still can’t decide if that’s the most mature or most ridiculous thing they’ve ever done. “They didn’t have any of the strawberry, which sucks, and some lady grabbed the last of the raspberry. There were some coconut ones but I couldn’t remember. Did we actually like those or did we just eat them cause they were there? Cause if we liked them, we should put some of the key lime back because neither of us really seem to like it. In fact, I should probably just put some back now. They always just sit in the fridge. Oh, do we need eggs?”

Connor smiles and watches Oliver ramble on about eggs and breakfast sausage and pancakes and syrup. Oliver does this all the time, just a never-ending stream of consciousness directed at no one in particular, and Connor finds it unspeakably endearing. _I could listen to him babble about nothing for the rest of my life._ The thought stops him cold. Since when did he start thinking about things like that? When did this whole thing start becoming more than temporary? When did this start becoming about forever?

“Connor?” Oliver’s gentle question jolts him back to the present. “You okay?”

Connor nods, quickly and jerky. “Yeah. I’m—” He clears his throat. “I’m okay.”

“You sure? You looked panicked.”

Connor catches Oliver’s gaze and finds himself soothed by the concern there. He really could spend the rest of his life looking into those eyes. “I’m sure. I’m good.”

“Okay,” Oliver says, concern still evident in his tone. “As long as you’re sure.” Connor nods again. “Okay. What do you think of just getting a pizza or something for dinner tonight? I mean I know we’re here and buying food to make actual dinner but I don’t want to cook and I know that you probably don’t want to cook. We could just get a frozen one or maybe one of those fresh, bake at home ones they have—”

“I love you,” Connor whispers, almost hoping that Oliver doesn’t hear him.

Oliver freezes and drops his list. Slowly and softly, he asks, “What did you say?”

“I love you.” This one is louder and the expression on Oliver’s face when he glances up is stunned. “I love you, Ollie.”

“I—I love you too, Connor.”

“Okay. Good.” Connor nods and picks Oliver’s list out of the cart to hand to him. “And I definitely think we should get pizza.”

Oliver’s laughter bubbles out and he pulls Connor over for a kiss right there in the middle of the refrigerated foods section. Muttering ‘I love you’ over and over again against Oliver’s lips, Connor changes his mind.

 

Maybe falling in love is a little bit like the movies after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/)


End file.
